these emotions are like oxygen
we breathe them in to survive
they pulse through us, making us alive
how can we be alive in the night, love?
breathing is wasted when we watch the stars
because nothing will ever cover up these scars
the pain is real but so is our love
and why must they become so entangled, my love?
this moment is heated
all we feel is the intensity of each breath
fleeting, fading is its existence
and in our attempt to feel it
in its entirety
we caught the flame of our ferocity
but, my love, don't you think,
that these memories are so much better
than to live with no scars at all?